Page 54 of You're So Vine
“He’s not here?”
“No…”
Shelby frowns, perplexed. It obviously isn’t like Cam not to turn up when expected. Ever reliable, that’s Cam Hollander. On every day except today, it seems.
“I called him, but no answer,” says Shelby.
I have a bad feeling about this. About where Cam could be. “Nate might have asked him to do something,” Shelby adds, filling me with the sweet air of relief. “I’ll find out.”
She calls Nate. A short conversation and too many “love you’s” later, Shelby says, “Nope, Nate has no idea where he is, either.”
The sweet air of relief turns noxious. My bad feeling becomes a conviction. Cam’s withher. And he doesn’t want anyone to know.
“Oh, well,” says Shelby, who can put a positive spin on mutually assured destruction. “Come on in the house. I’ll put the coffee on.”
Jackson shudders. I know why. The strength and consistency of Shelby’s coffee is legendary.
“The Black Death,” he says. “Make mine a double.”
“Did you and Danny get wasted last night?” asks Shelby.
She hooks her arm in her brother’s, and they start walking toward the house. I hang back, not sure whatI want to do. I had my plan and was feeling good about it. Positive. Upbeat, even. Now, I’m back where I was this morning, bubbling in a stew of resentment, with an added splash of hot spicy jealousy.
I hate him. I hate her. I hate myself for feeling like this.
“Ava, you coming?”
Jackson has noticed I’m not following them. Cam may have been right about him being a frat boy jerk, but I don’t care what Cam thinks: Jackson Armstrong’s been good company for me, and he could do with some moral support. I don’t think he’ll tell Shelby why he’s moving to LA, but if he does, he could use a friend with him. And so could I.
“Coming,” I say.
Nate enters the kitchen just as Shelby’s pouring coffee out of a battered old percolator that looks like it marched to the sea with General Sherman. He’s holding two big paper bags, one that looks like it’s full of—
“Donuts!” says Jackson. “My man!”
“Cracker Café’s finest,” says Nate. “And as I guarantee no one here’s eaten lunch yet despite it being well after two, I also have pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw and spicy pickle, even though Iris knows I hate spicy pickle.”
Iris runs Verity’s diner, The Cracker Café. She’s proud of her hardscrabble Florida roots and there’s a giant stuffed alligator on the diner wall, which she may or may not have killed with her bare hands. Even though Shelby insists that Iris is cranky with everyone, Nate’s convinced she holds a special loathing just for him.
“Ilo-ovespicy pickle,” says Shelby, with an erotic lowering of her voice that, judging by the alarm on Jackson’s face, has not gone unnoticed. “Give me yours right now.”
“Guys,” says Jackson, “should we leave you alone?”
Nate brings plates for the sandwiches and donuts. “Spicy pickle isn’t everyone’s idea of an aphrodisiac, and that group includes me, so don’t panic.”
He sits and immediately stares at me. “How are you doing, sis?”
I reach for a sandwich. May not eat it, but better not be rude.
“I survived the Mitch interrogation,” I say.
“Has Dr Google told Dad what you have?”
“Everything, apparently. Including anemia.”
“You don’t want that,” says Nate.
“No, because then I might pass out on the living room floor in front of my parents. How embarrassing.”
